


Shut the Doors Behind Us

by busaikko



Series: failed kinkmeme fills [2]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2013-02-21
Packaged: 2017-12-03 03:41:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/693705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/busaikko/pseuds/busaikko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Parrish and Sheppard encounter sex pollen offword, which leads to more than just a stimulating academic discovery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shut the Doors Behind Us

**Author's Note:**

  * For [auburn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/auburn/gifts).



> Inspired by this prompt: http://sga-kinkmeme.livejournal.com/1800.html?thread=217864 I meant to just write something short and hot, and then I was trapped by an unfolding plot and couldn't escape...

> We have shut the doors behind us, and the velvet flowers of night   
> Lean about us scattering their pollen grains of golden light. 
> 
> Now at last we lift our faces, and our faces come aflower   
> To the night that takes us willing, liberates us to the hour.  
> Hyde Park at Night, before the War , D.H. Lawrence  
> 

"Would it help if I told you the Latin name for the flowers?" Parrish asked. He felt absolutely miserable, with sweat slicking his skin under his clothes. He'd feel so much better if he just stripped naked, he thought. At least that way he could get a hand around his erection, and if Sheppard looked at him like he was a pervert, well, right now Parrish thought that sounded so good he nearly came in his underwear. He tried not to pant too obviously.

"Not really," Sheppard got out, voice harsh, hands clenching rhythmically. He looked murderous and freaked out and turned on; Parrish felt sorry for him. He wished from the bottom of his heart that he'd asked _anyone_ else to fly him out here to recalibrate the air-quality sensors here on P71-194. Yesterday, he'd thought the sensors were malfunctioning. Now he knew differently.

"It's the pollen," Parrish said, and gestured towards his face with the back of his hand. "I bet my eyes are as red as yours."

Sheppard pressed his lips together for a moment, shifting his weight from foot to foot, like he was trying to find relief. "Roll in the hay fever?"

Yeah, if the situation could possibly be any worse, it would be having an uncontrollable hard-on around someone who made corny botany jokes. Parrish rolled his itching eyes.

"But it wears off, right?" Sheppard went on, giving in and crossing his arms, fingers tight around his elbows, hunching over.

Parrish sighed. "We need to put our clothes in the contamination bag and wash thoroughly."

Sheppard shook his head sharply. "I can't fly us back to Atlantis," he nodded downwards, "like this." He took a deep breath, and then looked briefly horrified, like he'd spit the air back out if he could. "The ocean's ten minutes by jumper, and probably warm enough."

"Sounds like a plan," Parrish said. He'd also been trying not to think about the two hours it took to reach the local space gate, and which medical personnel he'd feel comfortable dealing with in his current condition. He shivered, desire burning through him in another wave, and grabbed his backpack.

They walked back to the jumper in silence, and then stripped grimly down to their underwear. Parrish triple-sealed the heavy plastic bag and gave Sheppard a wry look because it wasn't like either one of them could hide what was happening in their shorts. Under any other circumstances he'd be saving up mental snapshots of Sheppard to enjoy later; doing that now would feel like taking advantage, even though he doubted he'd ever be this close to Sheppard's dick again. "Bet you wish you had your team here and not me."

" _That_ ," Sheppard said, shaking his head, "would be a nightmare." He glanced away, hands returning to their involuntary clenching. "They're like family." He leaned against the outside wall of the jumper, knocking his head against it like that would get him thinking straight. "I don't – I can't fly like this. I feel... drunk."

"I wouldn't mind some privacy," Parrish agreed, and took a step away, even though that felt wrong. "I'll go," he gestured, "on the other side?" Sheppard gave him a terse nod, and Parrish made himself keep going even when in his peripheral vision he could see Sheppard shoving his boxers down and grabbing his dick roughly.

His brain replayed that image over and over as he got his own cock out, and he came on the first hard stroke. Coming didn't do anything to make the desperation go away, though; it felt like he'd just ramped the compulsion up, and he kept jerking off. Using his own come for lubricant, the second and third orgasms were even better, but he still wanted more, and as he was working on a fourth he had trouble keeping hold of the thought that this was _wrong_ , that he shouldn't just give up and keep coming _forever_.

" _Hey_ ," Sheppard said. Parrish blinked to awareness and found Sheppard had grabbed a fistful of his hair and was pulling it hard. He didn't know where Sheppard had come from or why, but he really, really didn't care. Sheppard's hair was clumped together with sweat, and his expression was hard, like he wanted to do violence to someone. He was also so close that Parrish could feel his body heat. He could kiss him, he thought, and swayed forward, opening his hand to wrap it around Sheppard's dick as well as his own. It felt so good, skin to skin, Sheppard stumbling into him, hips jerking as they tried to kiss each other while lacking the coordination to get their mouths together. Sheppard bit his way down Parrish's jawline and his neck, buried his face in his shoulder, and shouted as he came.

Parrish spun Sheppard around, up against the side of the jumper, and used his bare feet to shove his legs open. He grabbed Sheppard's ass in his hands and pulled his cheeks wide with his thumbs. He'd never been as hard as this, so utterly and impossibly consumed by sex, and he was going to take what he wanted simply because he wanted it. Sheppard pushed back, rubbing against his dick, fighting to get more and not trying to get away, so Parrish just lined his dick up and leaned in hard until Sheppard opened for him. He kept pushing until he was all the way in, and then he jerked his hips back so just the head of his cock kept his place inside Sheppard. Sheppard shuddered and dropped his head forward, and growled, _Please_. Parrish adjusted the grip of his sweat-slicked hands, getting purchase on Sheppard's skin, and then pounded into him like he was trying to hammer him straight through the jumper wall.

Sheppard was trying to brace himself with his hands, but they kept slipping on the metal. Every time Parrish slammed in Sheppard grunted, low and involuntary, fingers tightening and arms flexing. Parrish was fascinated by the way Sheppard's shoulders bunched and rolled, by how much he could take. He wanted to keep fucking Sheppard more than he wanted anything else. He came once, buried deep and shaking, but he was still hard, so he kept going. He thought Sheppard came, too, but it was hard to tell. Sheppard was always tense, like a storm about to break. Sheppard was _dangerous_ and Parrish thought that was the hottest thing ever, so hot he suddenly had trouble catching his breath, lethargy climbing his legs so his ankles wobbled, then his knees. He held tighter to Sheppard, feeling everything around him sharpen, become clear, grow brilliant. As he came he thought he could see the organic machinery of existence in the world around him and the man in front of him, everything slotting into perfect order, and then accelerating into white nothingness.

His life flickered before his eyes for a bit after that, like a reel-to-reel film that wasn't threaded properly. Sheppard asked him questions, sounding angry and far away, and Parrish was fairly sure he answered. He stared up at the sky, and then at the jumper ceiling, and let Sheppard move him around and wrap him up in something warm. Sheppard made him drink water, a few careful sips, asking if he felt like he was going to throw up. Parrish understood the question, even though it confused him. He never got motion sickness. Sheppard pressed a plastic bag into his hands anyway, and left him sitting there at the back of the jumper, propped up against the wall, naked under a blanket.

The jumper didn't lurch when it flew, or rock in the wind, but Parrish started to feel queasy anyway, remembering why he was naked, what he had done.

After a while, Sheppard said, "Okay," overloud and sounding like was trying too hard to be cheerful, the way people were around McKay when they wanted to annoy him. He also sounded close, and Parrish looked up to see Sheppard frowning down at him. "We're here," Sheppard elaborated, and Parrish staggered to his feet, staring out the front window and then the back door, confused to see the ocean and not the jumper bay. "The beach," Sheppard went on patiently, as if he'd read Parrish's mind. "I've had the jumper's air filtration on _decontaminate_ , but we should wash up anyway. In case there's something left." He took hold of Parrish's elbow with one hand and kept the blanket from sliding off his shoulders with the other. Sheppard, Parrish noticed, was wearing a paper examination gown, and was skinny enough that it stayed tied shut over his ass and dick. There were purple bruises all up and down his neck, and Parrish stared, not sure if he was horrified. He didn't remember doing that, but there were obvious tooth-marks.

Sheppard sighed, as if he knew just what he looked like, and steered him outside. The sun was bright, the ocean was beautiful, and Parrish felt miserable even though the sand was soft and warm between his toes.

"Look," Sheppard said, and scrunched up his face like speaking pained him. "I shouldn't have gone around the jumper to where you were. I told myself I needed to check up on you, but it's been –" he looked up, squinting at the sky as he mentally counted – "five years since I slept with anyone and I just, I wanted to...." He shrugged, letting his shoulders drop. "I didn't fight it. I should have."

Parrish eyed him. "It affected us the same way, and _I_ couldn't resist it. It was like being pulled out by a riptide." He was too tired to talk without using his hands, and the movement he made as he tried to draw the currents on the water before them made the blanket slip. He had to keep jerking it back into place. "We had to. Whether or not you wanted to have sex today or ever, or with me. Or if you were married, or straight, or religious, whatever."

Sheppard tipped his head, like he was confused. Perhaps, Parrish thought, his head was throbbing in the same hungover way. "You still wouldn't have been," he rolled his hand in the air and looked pained, "if I hadn't been there."

Parrish reached out and grabbed his arm, right under where the gown's paper short sleeve ended. He could feel muscles tighten beneath his fingers, and he had a vivid sense-memory of sex. "You were at the meetings after what Lucius Lovin made people do. This was a reaction to the pollen, an allergy, perhaps, I'll know more once I've tested my samples." He cut himself off; the problem was fascinating, and he'd definitely write a paper on it, but his skin was tight and itchy where Sheppard's come had dried. "We were code 1212'd. It happens. I don't blame you."

"We should wash up," Sheppard said, stepping out of Parrish's reach and handed him a towel.

There wasn't really anything to say to that, so he followed Sheppard down to the water. Leaving his blanket and towel with Sheppard's paper robe safe on the sand, he waded in until the waves were waist-high and then ducked his head under, rinsing his hair and rubbing at the back of his neck in an attempt to ease the headache that throbbed behind his eyes. It kind of worked, and he popped his head up to breathe, floating a bit as he used his fingers to comb his hair back from his face. His dick hurt and his balls felt swollen and tender, but he was trying not to think about that.

"In case it matters," Sheppard started; he was behind Parrish and out of sight, and Parrish was feeling too lazy to turn around and look at him. Sheppard went on talking anyway. "I'm not with anyone, or straight." There was a pause, and a splash, and out of the corner of his eyes Parrish saw toes rise up to his right and then sink back under. "Do you have a girlfriend? Or boyfriend?" His delivery was forcedly casual.

"No to both of those," Parrish said. "The Stargate program makes relationships hard." He heard Sheppard snort sympathetically.

"Tell me about it."

"But when you think, here we are, on a planet the Ancients terraformed and abandoned millennia ago, where we're the aliens landing in our exploratory spacecraft, that blows my mind."

"Pretty cool," Sheppard agreed.

Parrish sighed. "If we could step away from the guilt and the awkwardness, it was pretty hot as one night stands go."

Behind him, Sheppard shoved an armful of water over, a half-assed attempt at splashing. "It was maybe the hottest sex I've ever had."

Parrish twisted around and squinted into the reflected sunlight through his swollen itchy eyes, trying to figure out if Sheppard was serious. "So," he started, adjusting his hypothesis in light of that data. "We both enjoyed it and neither of us were cheating. The only problem is that we're good people, so the idea of having lost control and hurting someone..." He gestured, his fingers hitting the water clumsy, water flying.

"I have," Sheppard said, and his face twisted, an expression so startlingly ridiculous that Parrish knew he was looking at John Sheppard, and not the front put up by Atlantis' military commander. "I've been out of my head and nearly killed everyone on my team. Or raped them," he added, and his mouth twisted down, the lines on his face deepening.

"This is different," Parrish said. He didn't really know that much about Sheppard, but he knew he'd mutated into a bug and done bad things. It was a popular cautionary tale on Atlantis. "Honestly, I care more about what's going to happen now. Can we still work together? It sounds like you're closeted. That must be difficult. Maybe you want someone to talk to?" He felt ridiculous having this conversation while dog-paddling so he stood to start the slog through the water back to shore. He heard Sheppard following, and tried not to feel embarrassed at being watched.

"Would you ever date someone who wasn't out?" Sheppard asked, sounding so laid-back and casual that Parrish nearly brushed him off with a _sure, why not_.

But that wasn't the truth, or not the complete truth, so he took a breath, shoving back his hair yet again as he thought. "I'm forty-three years old," he said finally, feeling each of his years as he emerged from the salt water and gravity reasserted its pull on his body. "It wouldn't matter for casual sex, but that's not _dating_ , and I burned out on that in the nineties. Dating implies meeting family and friends and doing things together, not secrecy." His left hand jerked out in emphasis and smacked Sheppard in the arm. He snatched it back, feeling heat in his face. "Plus I remember how Brendan Gaul's partner found out about his death. I don't ever want to be in the position where no one even knows to tell me, if something happened."

Sheppard reached the blanket first, grabbing the towels and flipping one casually over for Parrish to snatch out of the air. Sheppard's shoulders were pinking from the sun, and the scratches and bruises were clear on his skin in the bright light. He had scars, Parrish could see clearly, as Sheppard raised his arms to towel his hair and scrub his face. There was a tight, still-red scar just to the side of Sheppard's belly button, not hidden by Sheppard's chest hair and deep enough it could probably hold the heel of his hand. That must have hurt, Parrish thought, and he wondered what had happened.

"Are you asking me out?" Parrish asked, feeling that _ping_ in his head from facts aligning into order.

"No," Sheppard said, slow and patient, dragging the word out. "Rejection's not my favorite thing." He flipped the towel around, doing his back quickly, like he'd just realized that they were both naked and wanted to get back into his paper gown as soon as possible.

"We have a pretty big queer community on Atlantis," Parrish offered, as he picked up the blanket and shook it downwind before wrapping up sarong-style.

Sheppard was struggling with the paper closure ties, obviously trying to get the balance right between too-loose knots and ripping the ties off entirely. "I know." He sounded tired. "Give it a rest, doc." He squinted at Parrish and gave him the left side of a smile. "There's water bottles and Advil back in the jumper, if your head still hurts."

Parrish blinked, and then realized he was digging the heel of his hand into the side of his head above his ear, in an attempt to stop the throbbing. "Can you fly the jumper?" he asked, suddenly worried.

"Not a problem," Sheppard said, and nodded, as if that settled the question. "Come on. I'll get you home before they stop serving dinner."

Parrish followed him across the sand back to the jumper, feeling like a door had just been gently closed behind him. He didn't know what to say, so he complained about the cafeteria food, took the pills Sheppard offered, and settled in with his computer to pass the two hours writing reports and proposals, consciously projecting the image of being too busy for any more conversation.

Parrish was used to arriving in Atlantis in one form of quarantine or another – it was a hazard of working closely with alien flora. Sheppard made the interesting choice of contacting Biro directly over a secure channel, so they were whisked off to separate isolation rooms to be scanned, prodded, and interviewed by the new psychologist. Parrish signed the report that would go in the sealed file and the public one that was going to Woolsey, and Biro handed him some pills and a pamphlet as he left.

And that was that. He didn't have to avoid Sheppard over the next few weeks, because their paths never normally crossed anyway, except for the occasional offworld mission when Lorne was unavailable. He listened to the gossip about Sheppard's team a bit more than he usually did. He learned that Teyla's son had started talking, and McKay and Keller were against all odds still together. Ronon Dex was dating someone in the US military, and Sheppard had gone surfing on P1B-737. He didn't find out what he wanted to know: whether Sheppard was still alone, whether he thought about what happened as much as Parrish did – whether he jerked off, remembering. Whether he thought Parrish was a coward. Whether he thought about him at all.

Parrish admitted that his obsession with Sheppard was ridiculous and unfounded. He had no idea what they had in common.

And he never would unless he made an effort to find out.

He thought about sending Sheppard an email asking him out for coffee – Atlantis was short on generic date spots. But then they'd end up together in a public space, trapped with hot beverages and unable to talk about anything that wasn't superficial. He found himself heading home from a staff meeting one Thursday night, halfway to the transporter when he realized going to Sheppard's quarters was as easy as a hand-wave. He told Kiang he'd forgotten something in his desk and went back to call up the personnel directory on his laptop. Sheppard had a fancy central address, high enough up to have a gorgeous view, Parrish supposed, although the location was probably practical: proximity to the gate room and jumpers, as well as to the quarters of the other command staff and the military personnel.

By transporter, it took the same amount of time to get there as it did to get home. Parrish felt as though this shouldn't be so easy, but he found Sheppard's door right where the schematic told him it would be. He knocked.

There was no answer.

He should definitely have gone with the email, Parrish thought. He didn't know if Sheppard was out, or if he was sleeping, or in the shower – and what was he going to say, if Sheppard wasn't alone? He made a mental note to never do spontaneous things after meetings; his judgment was obviously clouded. He knocked again.

This time he heard a thump, and a mutter, and then a bang, and the doors slid open.

"I'm sorry," Parrish said, when Sheppard stared at him blearily, like he'd just woken up. Sheppard was dressed in what looked like pajamas – sweatpants and a faded panda bear t-shirt – and had bed-hair. His face was shaded with stubble, and behind him the room was dark. "I didn't think. I'm sorry I got you up."

"It's fine," Sheppard said, and crossed his arms. "What's on your mind, Dr. Parrish?" He sounded friendly and concerned, and not like he was remembering that back on P71-194 he'd begged to be fucked.

"Remember what we talked about on the beach?" Parrish said, and watched Sheppard. He didn't react much, but his eyes sharpened and he straightened a little, as if he was pulling himself inwards, bracing for something.

"We talked about a lot of stuff," Sheppard said carefully. He still didn't move to let Parrish inside.

"If you asked me now, I'd give you a different answer." Parrish didn't know what to do with his hands. He had a nervous habit of tapping his thumb against his fingers, but he made himself stop, curling his fingertips in and stilling himself. And then he felt so awkwardly uncomfortable that he shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked a bit on his feet, mentally giving himself up as hopeless.

Sheppard eyed him, as if half amused and half wary. "Why?"

Parrish shrugged and lowered his voice to answer. "Because I can't stop thinking about you." He saw Sheppard's frown and raised his hand to hold off his objection. "Not what we did. Not _just_ that. Talking to you." He spread his hands. "I guess I like you," he said, making sure the words wouldn't carry past the doorway, the carefully maintained space between them.

Sheppard's shoulder's dropped and he bit his lip, body language that Parrish would have interpreted as completely fed up if not for the look in Sheppard's eyes. But Sheppard stepped back, tipping his head to the dim interior of his room, and said, "Why don't you come in?" He didn't say anything else until Parrish was inside and the door was locked behind him.

"You can say no," Parrish said, trying to keep his tone matter-of-fact, because he had a sudden horrible memory of the last time. He knew what it felt like to have no comprehension that _not_ having sex was possible.

Sheppard spread his hands. "You didn't bring me flowers and I haven't been drinking, so if I'm saying yes, I mean it."

Parrish reached out and put a hand on Sheppard's shoulder, and then took a step closer. He tried to telegraph his intentions well before he leaned in and kissed Sheppard. Sheppard bit less when he wasn't hopped up on aphrodisiacs, and he closed his eyes and cupped Parrish's face between his palms as if he was holding something fragile and precious. One kiss blurred into another, each one slow, careful, and deliberate, each one feeling, Parrish thought, like a choice.

By the time the kissing trailed to a stop, Parrish was lightheaded and restraining himself from grinding against Sheppard. It felt good to resist.

"Come to bed," Sheppard said, tugging on Parrish's hand. "I want to blow you."

Sheppard's sheets were scratchy and smelled like salt air, and the lump beneath Parrish's back turned out to be a stuffed dragon which Sheppard dismissed by saying _Torrren_ as if that explained everything. But Parrish was distracted by Sheppard unbuttoning his shirt and trailing a line of kisses down along the path his fingers took, with detours to lick warm circles around his nipples before continuing down.

Parrish unbuttoned his shorts and lifted his hips so Sheppard could tug them off, taking his boxers and Birkenstocks with them and shoving everything off the side of the bed. Parrish would have complained, except that Sheppard pressed a kiss to the side of his leg just above his knee, and then another, trailing a slow ladder up the inside of Parrish's thigh until he reached his balls. Sheppard raised his head, one eyebrow tilting in question. "How do you like it?"

Parrish dropped his head back and stared at the ceiling. He liked a lot of things, and he didn't want to leave anything out. Sheppard ran his nails down the outside of his leg, and Parrish's cock jumped.

"I meant how do you want it now?" Sheppard clarified. He shifted, and Parrish felt his hair brush over his cock, and he added _coming in your hair_ to his long list of things he wanted. "Do you hate teeth, do you like it wet, slow or fast?" Sheppard gave a helpful demonstrative lick, straight up from the base of Parrish's cock to the tip.

"Yes, all of that," Parrish got out, trying not to gasp.

"I'm good at this," Sheppard said, his low voice suggesting a confidence. "I practice on lollipops."

And _fuck_ , Sheppard slid his tongue around the head of Parrish's cock in a slow soft twist, moving down, taking him into his mouth. Parrish grabbed fistfuls of the sheets and spread his legs wider, remembering that he'd seen Sheppard on an off-world mission, kicking back with his feet up, a white lollipop stick sliding slowly from one side of his mouth to the other. At the time he'd thought Sheppard was acting like a kid – he definitely hadn't realized he was keeping up with his oral sex skills, right there in the jumper.

Sheppard had his hand curled loosely around the base of Parrish's cock, feeding it into his mouth; each time Sheppard lowered his head, he took Parrish deeper, and when he pulled back he traced lines and sworls with his tongue. It felt as if he was mapping the contours, seeking out every sensitive spot that made Parrish's hips jerk forward in an attempt to fuck right down Sheppard's throat, and Parrish had the impression Sheppard wouldn't mind that, that he _wanted_ to take in as much of Parrish's cock as possible.

Sheppard was going slow, pulling Parrish incrementally closer to the edge with a lazy kind of deliberation, and Parrish was sweating from having to bear it, his thighs shaking, breathing as if he'd just had to run for his life. He was no good at talking during sex, possibly because his hands were otherwise occupied, but he finally broke, words falling out of him in a jumble of _please_ and _now_ and _faster_ and _more_ and _want to come in your mouth_.

Sheppard didn't say anything, but he hummed something in answer that went through Parrish like an electrical shock. His hand tightened, working Parrish's cock faster, and the hot suction of his mouth went from being a tease to a promise. Parrish couldn't stay still with the pleasure building up unbearably inside him, and when he came it was with a shout as he arched, head tossing back, hands and feet curling, hips driving up, propelled by the brilliant energy that danced along his nerves.

He felt Sheppard swallow, several times, and then pull off, but Parrish was still breathing too hard and blinking black spots out of his vision to manage more than flailing one hand in Sheppard's direction. He caught a handful of hair and tugged, pulling Sheppard up and kissing him. Sheppard was trying to get his own pants open, distracted and desperate, his mouth hard against Parrish's. Parrish caught Sheppard's tongue and sucked on it, reaching down to curl his fingers over Sheppard's so they laced together around his cock, the hard speed of Sheppard's pace pushing him into an orgasm that Parrish kissed him through, feeling the hot pulse of come over his fingers, spilling down onto his stomach, slicking his grip as he rubbed his thumb over the head of Sheppard's cock, making him cry out. Parrish felt inordinately protective, like he just wanted to curl up with Sheppard forever.

When Sheppard got his breath back and had mopped them up with tissue, he said, "You should stay the night."

Parrish had been about to say he should be going. He didn't want to go. "Is that safe?" he asked.

Sheppard paused. "Well," he said contemplatively, "hopefully not safe for my ass in the morning." He glanced over at Parrish, looking tired, still wearing the panda t-shirt, and with a faint glow of happiness that Parrish selfishly wanted to think he was responsible for.

"Aren't you the romantic," he said, not really complaining. "I have a meeting at eight."

Sheppard grinned. "I'll set the alarm for six," he said.

Parrish leaned over and kissed him. "Then you'd better get to sleep soon, or you won't be able to get up in the morning."

Sheppard caught the delicate pause that Parrish had inserted to suggest he was interested in a specific kind of _getting up_ and rolled his eyes, but he pushed the pillow over to Parrish's side of the bed anyway. "That was the good thing about what happened, before. Coming and getting hard again right after."

Parrish got under the covers and held them up in invitation. Sheppard put the light out, crawled in, and immediately put his arm around his waist.

"Except that it hurt after a while and might have killed us." Parrish found Sheppard's face with his hand and leaned in for a goodnight kiss. "This is better."

Sheppard murmured agreement, already falling asleep. Parrish put his cheek to Sheppard's pillow, tossed a leg over Sheppard's to keep him from getting away, and closed his own eyes. If he was going to be fucking Sheppard up against the wall again anytime soon, he'd need his energy, he thought decisively, and fell into dreams of flowers and sun.


End file.
